


(You and I) we're a promise and I intend to keep it

by amako



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Healthy Relationships, Intimacy, Laughter, Male-Female Friendship, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Slow Romance, it's very important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amako/pseuds/amako
Summary: The Herald is a strange thing. She's tall, for an elf. But she always makes it look like she's a small one, frail and about to break.She walks like something is chasing her, like if she stops to walk even for a minute, she'll never be able to walk again.So Bull watches her, and he waits until she stops running.





	(You and I) we're a promise and I intend to keep it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nebulad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/gifts).



> TW: brief mention of non-con/rape
> 
> This is my first ever work for Dragon Age, and Bull/Inquisitor isn't even my OTP, but their dynamic is fascinating and I needed something with them where it's not just sex, sex, and more sex. So there we go. I hope you'll like it!!! It's also a gift to Nebulad for writing an Inquisitor/Bull series that isn't about them fucking.
> 
> (fyi, my otps are: Warden/Leliana, Warden/Zevran, Hawke/Varric, Hawke/Fenris, Inquisitor/Sera, Inquisitor/Cassandra and for each of them I don't care about the hero's gender)

The Herald is a strange thing. She's tall, for an elf, easily reaching Cassandra's height. But she always makes it look like she's a small one, frail and about to break. People look at her and they underestimate the strength lying in her broad shoulders (again, hidden away underneath layers of dalish fabric, piled enough that you can't know if the bulk of her silhouette is muscles or cloth).

She walks like something is chasing her, like if she stops to walk even for a minute, she'll never be able to walk again. Bull has seen that in mages, Templars on their heels, or in the tiny girls from the taverns of east Ferelden, who know what drunk men will want from them once they've spent their pay in bitter mead.

It's fascinating to watch, how little she cares when she jumps from heights because she's too lazy, too curious, too hurried, to take the path down the mountain. She rises from the ground with scraped knees and excited smiles, looking so much like a child playing a game that no one dares comment on the risks she's taking.

That's a good way to describe her; a child. A child, running around and taking stupid risks no adult would ever take, because a child hasn't been taught yet that you can spare yourself some hurts, that there is always a way to make things easier if you have the patience.

The Herald only has patience for the children of Haven when they ask her to play with them. She's their favoured choice in partner when it comes to play Freeze the Wolf or Mages and Templars. That one, especially, because the Herald is tall and strong, broad shoulders and muscles tightening underneath her clothes, and that's something children see, so they ask her to be the Templar and she runs after them with mocking grimaces of anger.

And she laughs.

She laughs, deep and long, like she doesn't quite know how to stop, and the children laugh, bright and harmonious, and when they all run around Haven, people stand straighter, just that little bit happier because the children are laughing and the Herald is laughing and it can't be that bad if even the Herald is laughing, can't it?

Bull sees all this, from his corner of the barracks where the Chargers have set up camp. He watches, studies, files away all that he learns about the Herald. He notices how she's always asking questions, endless, pointless questions that seem to fill her with something like satisfaction. She's a child who wants to know everything, in a tall, strong body with broad shoulders and when she laughs, Haven takes a collective breath and everything is a little bit better.

 

 

Sometimes, she stops by and talks to Krem, smothers him with questions about himself and the Chargers and in all the years he's known the kid, not once has he blurted his story so fast as he does to the Herald. Later, Bull raises an eyebrow at that and Krem shrugs, pointing at the Herald with his chin.

She's teaching a little girl how to handle a wooden sword and the kid slams her weapon into the Herald's shin by accident. The girl looks absolutely terrified, but the Herald takes her by the waist and swirls her around, laughing and congratulating her. Bull can see how she shifts her weight on her other leg without saying a word, only laughing louder when the girl hugs her tight.

Krem shrugs again, and the Bull nods.

 

 

When she talks to him, it's a truth for a truth, and she isn't shy with hers so he always makes it very clear that he's being honest as well. She asks about the Qunari and his training, and she asks about his customs like she's genuinely interested, and not simply fascinated in the way people can't look away when someone gets knocked over. So he tells her about the name he picked and the smell of food at home and the way his people view sex.

She tilts her head and asks blunt questions, the ghost of a smile on her lips. He answers them without shame and he's pleased to see she isn't blushing either. So he talks some more, just to test this new thing, to see where the boundaries are. The Herald never backs down, only asks further, until he's telling her about the first time he went to a Tamassran. She has a cup of something fruity and non-alcoholic in hand and she's staring at him like he's telling her a joke she absolutely wants to understand.

When he admits that he had no idea what to do with himself or his dick, she laughs, loud but sharing, like she's laughing _with_ him instead of laughing at him. What can he do but laugh as well?

Later that night, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, expecting to be pushed away, testing the boundaries again. She snuggles up to his side, downing her fruity drink in one go. She sneezes hard, and her body folds in half, falling out of the embrace. Bull drops his arm, but the Herald straightens up and plasters herself against his ribs once more. He doesn't hesitate in putting his arm back.

She asks him about sex some more, when she comes to the Chargers' tents, and she's so blunt in her innuendos that he has to blink a couple of times. He's been hit on before, but there always was some sort of lust or excited veil over the other's eyes. The Herald is asking matter-of-factly, in her usual curious way.

He's a bit uncomfortable at the lack of heat in her gaze, but he figures it's just the child in her, speaking with the words of an adult, so he turns her down. He wants her to want him, in a way he's not sure she knows how to yet. But soon. When her trust is something he has gained, rather than something offered to him freely. Then, he'll take her to bed and show her exactly what it means to let go.

It feels like he only blinks a few times and suddenly the Breach is closed, and he's sitting next to the Herald on a wall, facing Haven and the people dancing and singing. The Herald is laughing, her broad shoulders shaking with happiness and relief. It's good to see, the relaxed posture of her usually tensed back. For once, he doesn't want to unravel her, to catch her when he breaks her until she can finally catch a break. He wants to fuck her slowly, wrapped around her like an armour, until she falls asleep with her nose in his neck.

He stays quiet, instead, until she leans against him, her head gently resting on his shoulder. She takes a deep breath, and releases it for long seconds.

 

“I'm tired, the Iron Bull,” she whispers.

His arm snakes around her strong body. “Sleep, then. I'll stand guard.”

She smiles against his skin. “Thank you.”

 

She closes her eyes and he enjoys her warmth against him for all of three minutes. Then, a roar, the rhythm of an army marching through the snow. The Herald wakes up instantly, jumping on her feet. The Bull sighs. The tension is back in her shoulders.

He can only watch the Templars march toward Haven, glowing red like harbingers of destruction. The Herald looks at him, long and hard.

 

“You're coming with me.” She tells him that, doesn't ask, because this is bigger than them. This is Haven's children, playing Mages and Templars with her when the sun is high in the sky. This is Varric and Sera, playing Wicked Grace in the tavern and inviting Krem to play because they figured him out and don't give a fuck. So of course, he says : “I am.”

And so they go.

And when it's time to run away and the dying cleric tells them about their chance at saving their skin, Bull watches the Herald holding her breath.

 

“I'm staying,” she says. “I'm buying you time,” she says. “It doesn't matter if I die, as long as you get the children out,” she doesn't say, but they hear all the same. Cullen looks gutted and Bull wants to hit something very bad.

Instead, the Herald looks at them, child-like and daring, stupid, stupid risks and scrapped knees, and she laughs.

 

“I'm going to fight a dragon!” She laughs, loud and sincere. “A dragon!”

 

She punches Bull in the chest playfully, grabs her giant sword and swings it until it rests across her shoulders. She doesn't turn around to look at them, only waves at them from behind.

As the Chantry's doors close after her, Bull stares at her shaking shoulders, hears her mutter: “The Keeper would kill me if she knew what I'm about to do.” Then she rolls her shoulders back, braces herself, and the doors close.

When the Chantry is far behind them, it's like a collective need to look overtakes the whole of Haven. Everyone stops, on top of the cliff they've just finished climbing. They stand, in silence, the wind howling around them. Down below, the trebuchet fires. They see her, tall and proud, her sword lying next to her, defiant and smiling.

The boulder hits the mountain. The snow rumbles, growls, stretches itself cat-like before launching itself in Haven's direction. Bull hears people muttering prayers, whispering wishes to whoever their gods are. He stays silent, and he watches as the snow crashes onto Haven, ravaging everything. The Herald disappears.

He takes a deep breath, before turning around.

Her laugh is still echoing in the valley.

 

 

It's Cassandra who brings her back, carrying the Herald in her arms. She's too tall, too heavy for it, but she's also too unconscious to walk on her own. Bull meets them at the edge of the camp but doesn't offer to take her instead. The Seeker looks like she needs this. And when everyone is singing something he's always considered as too romantic for the bloody religion that comes with it, when everyone kneels in front of that woman who came back from a fight against a mountain, Bull bows his head as well.

This, this deserves respect.

Shortly after that, the Herald is running after a bunch of kids, but the rules of the game have changed. Now they're all little dragons and she's playing her own role, chasing them with her loud laugh and her broad shoulders. Bull hears a woman say to her friend that she's never felt this safe.

Bull is inclined to agree.

 

 

The Herald comes by the Chargers' side of the camp to talk to Krem, then to talk to him. It's like nothing happens, and she picks up their last conversation where they left it, about watchwords and their use in bed and why the Tamassran always made sure the Qunari visiting them had one in mind.

Again, it sounds like she's propositioning him at every turn of sentence, but the Bull refuses to hear it. She's still shaking from the cold and the fight and sometimes her eyes loose focus, like she's been hit on the head a few times too many. He's not taking advantage of that. When he takes her, she'll be focused on him and nothing else.

They reach Skyhold with some energy left in their wary bones, just enough to set up some beds and fires and eat a bowl of stew. Then they crash, and they crash hard. The Herald has a private room now, far from where everyone is staying. Bull sees it like this: when they get around to doing it, at least they won't be heard by half the Inquisition.

It's barely morning when Cassandra leads the Herald up a flight of stairs, until they're above the courtyard and everyone is looking at them. What she says to the Herald, he can't hear, but the spymaster is handing her a glistening sword.

The Herald says something, her hand brushing her pointy ear in an unconscious gesture. Ah, so it's about her race then. Whatever Cassandra answers is enough, though, because the Herald takes the sword and turns around to look at her people.

 

“I am taking this sword for Hori, Koris, Reegar, Alistair and Gabija. I'm brandishing it for Loig, Fanni and Valla. I will strike down every threat to the Inquisition for Kamil, Gallen and Senna. We will survive this battle so that every little person here grows up in a world where they can play Mages and Templars without fearing either of them!”

 

Bull isn't surprised that she remembers all the names of every children in the Inquisition. He's quietly happy to see all of them perk up when this woman say them aloud, acknowledging them in a way adults don't usually. He adores that her reason for fighting is a small thing with scrapped knees and no self-preservation. And it's why it works so well, why everyone is cheering their new Inquisitor like she just won the war for them with only a few words.

 

 

That evening, her giant sword strapped to her back and a fruity drink in hand, she gives him a warm smile and an innuendo so blunt Krem chokes on his beer. She's happy and she isn't concussed and that's, frankly, enough for Bull. She goes to bed as the sun sets, not looking back to see if he's following, but he doesn't expect her to. He follows anyway.

She isn't in her room when he gets there, so he goes inside and waits for her by the bed, sitting somewhat uncomfortably. When she gets there, she's undoing the clasps holding her sword to her back, and she lays it against the wall before turning to face him. He straightens in his chair.

 

“So listen, I've caught the hints, I get what you're saying. You want to ride the Bull.”

 

She blinks. Then blinks again. Bull gets up, and walks towards her.

 

“Can't say I blame you, but I'm not sure you know what you're asking, not sure if you're ready for it.”

 

Slowly, her face splits into a smile. Then the smile morphs into a grin so wide Bull wonders if it's possible to be blinded by teeth.

 

“Are you kidding me? That's the best thing I've heard all day!”

 

Uh.

 

“Uh.”

“Praised be June, I'm so excited! When are we doing this? Can it be now? Oh, please, let's do it now!”

 

Okay, so he knew the Inquisitor didn't have a problem with talking about sex with him, but this is unexpected. Like, really unexpected.

Like they say, though, don't look a gift mabari blablabla. It's not like he has anything better to do with his evening.

 

“Sure, Boss. Let's do this.”

She does a little victory sign, fist tight and elbow going down. “Yes!”

 

Then, taking him completely off guard, she runs to him and grabs one of his horn, her foot finding his thigh and in one swift push, she's swinging herself in the air and landing on his shoulders.

 

“Forward, my friend! 'Tis time to fight the greatest war of our Age!”

 

The Bull isn't sure he remembers how to breathe.

He was expecting _everything_ except this.

But the Inquisitor is laughing and she's pointing to the ramparts, vibrating with childish glee and her long legs are swinging back and forth on each side of his chest. He releases a quiet laugh, grabs her legs with his hands, and walks out of the door. Her laughter is echoing in his thorax and it feels good.

 

 

Once the whole camp has gotten an eyeful of Inquisitor crying of laughter while the Iron Bull runs around the ramparts with a roar, she taps gently his shoulder and he lets her down. She leans against the wall, breathless and still crying with mirth.

 

“Oh, thank you, the Iron Bull. I needed that.”

 

Bull looks at her, really looks. Her hair is mussed, her cheeks are pink and her entire body is relaxed. If he hadn't been there a second ago, he would have said she had just been fucked boneless. The realisation takes him by surprise.

What he has wanted to offer her for months since she brought him to Haven, that release, that calm and pleasure from finally letting herself go... he just gave it to her. He just gave her that, by running around and carrying her on his shoulders.

 

“Hey, Boss?” he says, soft and quiet like he so rarely is.

“Yeah?”

He sits down next to her. “Hey, Boss.”

Her face softens. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

 

There is a hitch in her breath, a silent gasp, but it's surprise, not unease he reads on her face.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bull leans forward, his hand cupping her neck. Gently, he presses his lips against hers. She wraps her arms around his neck, climbing in his lap, her whole body plastered against his, legs around his hips. He breaks the kiss and hides his face in the space between her jaw and her shoulder.

They stay like that a long time, in the tightest hug Bull has ever received in his life. There is something strange and itchy, moving inside his chest, when he thinks about who he's giving this to. She laughs, brief and light, against his skin. He shivers.

 

“Boss,” he whispers. “Let me take you to bed.”

 

She puts just enough space between them to look at him, before nodding. Then she presses herself against him again. Bull rises, holding her as she automatically wraps her strong legs around him. He takes her to her room and sits down on the best. The Inquisitor lets him go, finally, and he instantly misses the warmth of her body against his bare chest.

He kisses her again, chasing the warmth, again and again until she's breathless and he moves on to her neck, to the buckles of her armour that he unties one by one. His hand slips between the many folds of her clothes and brush against her stomach. She looks down to where he's resting, facing her chest and body between her open legs.

 

“What are you doing?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Undressing you. Unless you want to do this covered? It can be fun that way too.”

“Why?”

“What?” He frowns.

“Why are you undressing me?”

 

That sounds suspiciously like Dalish customs or a serious case of virgin innocence. He's fine with either as long as they're clear on what he's going to do to her. He wants to make her feel good, but he's a big fan of consent.

 

“So we can have sex?” he says like a question. “How do you Dalish do it, then?”

 

Bull sees the exact second she shuts down completely. Her forehead smooths, the remaining laughter disappears from her face. Her lips hide her teeth. Her whole body tenses, broad shoulders hunching. Her muscles stretch, bracing for a fight.

She's subtle, though. If he didn't have the training he has, he might not have noticed, because her hands stay where they are and she's still smiling. To anyone else, she would simply seem puzzled. He knows her better than that.

It's only because he's so focused on her that he sees the mask slipping on. Her smile widens, her hands tighten on his shoulders. She purposefully relaxes all her muscles until she's relaxed and pliant underneath him.

Bull has to reign the nausea in. The Inquisitor caresses his cheek and he shudders. If he was anyone else, if he wasn't trained to see this, he would believe her willingness. She would let herself be raped and not say a word about it.

He feels sick.

 

“Talk to me, Boss.”

“You'll have to forgive me, the Iron Bull. I've never done this before,” and here is her bluntness again, no shame in talking about sex, except that she's lying, she's lying through her teeth and she wants him to believe her. “I'm not sure what I need to do.”

 

It's too much. He backs away, out of her embrace, and sits down on the edge of the bed. She looks at him, frowning, but her shoulders have relaxed minutely.

 

“I'm not having sex with you if you don't want me to.”

“I want to! I want to have sex with you, the Iron Bull.” She's always used his full name, like a promise, like respect. It's his turn to respect her.

“Boss.” She quiets down. “When I came here earlier, you really did think I was offering to carry you on my shoulders, didn't you?”

 

He had thought it was a prank, her nature to find laughter in everything, before turning it into something serious. He had thought she knew what he meant and only wanted to have a bit of fun.

 

“Yeah.” Her voice is frail. She's never sounded like that before.

“And you would have let me fuck you, even if you don't want me to.”

“Yeah.”

 

He swears in qunari under his breath. He's cold. He wants to throw up.

 

“You've let other people fuck you before, without saying anything.”

“Yeah.”

 

There's no laughter in her voice, no smile on her face. She looks like a warrior, tall, broad shoulders and packed with muscles. She's not supposed to look like a warrior, in bed with him.

 

“Talk to me, Boss,” he says again. And this time, she answers.

“I don't like sex. It's too hot and it's sticky and it smells bad. I like sleeping next to someone and I like hugs. Sometimes, I like going down on someone because they squirm and it makes them feel good. Not always. Sometimes, it's just gross. I like when people lick my tits and when they hold me so tight it's like I can't run away. But I hate when they touch me when I don't expect it. I don't like sex, but I like you. I can have sex with you, if you want.”

 

Bull is feeling a little green around the edges.

 

“No, Boss, I'm good. Don't need to have sex with ol' Iron Bull if you don't want to.”

“I want to!” she repeats. “I just don't-”

“-want to, Boss. You don't want to.”

 

She hugs her knees, hides her face in her crossed arms.

 

“I'm sorry, the Iron Bull. I'm really sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Boss.”

“But I don't want you to go away. And you will. I know you've wanted to fuck me for months, now. I always tried to make it clear you could. But you didn't. And now you made me tell you and you're going to leave.”

 

Bull leans against the wooden board at the foot of the bed. It's true that he's wanted the Inquisitor for a long time, and he's dreamt of all the things he'd do to her on many nights. Qunari don't have sex with their friends, and she's his friend. He still wants to have sex with her, though, and there's still that weird, itchy feeling in his stomach.

(he knows what it is, he just doesn't want to think about it)

He now knows the Inquisitor can relax fully by giving her entire trust to him, letting him carry her around, not in the way he expected but the result is the same. And she only trusts him with that. Isn't it what he wanted, ultimately?

And there she is, nothing like a warrior, trying to make herself smaller because she thinks he's going to run away and leave her alone after she's offered him her trust and her words.

No. Never.

 

“I'm not going to leave, Boss.” She looks up, slowly. “I'm not going to leave. I'm good with you sucking me once in a while. I'm especially good with licking your tits and holding you tight. If that's all you want me to do to you, I'm good with that too.”

 

He shifts a bit on the bed, watching her unfold little by little.

 

“All I want is that, once in a while, you let me take care of you. You pick how. You pick where. It can be like we did, you on my shoulders and we go run around and let people talk about us. It can be me kissing you until you pass out, or a massage, or if you let me, giving you head once in a while.” He takes her hand, happy when it's welcome. “Let me take care of you, Boss, and I'll be okay with whatever we are.”

 

The Inquisitor look at him like he offered her a way to win the war, and the nausea vanishes from his stomach.

 

“Really?”

“Yeah, Boss, really.”

 

She stands up. She's a strange thing, the Inquisitor. She's tall, for an elf. Her broad shoulders are hidden underneath layers of clothes and armour he never finished taking off. He drinks on the sight of her as she quickly takes her chestplate off, then all her clothes, until the dalish fabric pools around her ankles. Her leather pants follow, and she throws her boots away.

She's naked and facing him, scars drawing a map on her body, and she starts laughing. Her laugh is deep and long, like she doesn't know how to stop, and Bull stands up as well. His clothes are quick to remove, and they're both naked and she's still laughing and she jumps on him.

But she's tall and strong and he stumbles and falls on the bed and his cock is hard but she doesn't look like she minds. He wraps himself around her and squeezes her tight, pressing her against him, almost hoping he could merge his body with hers. Her face in his neck, his face in hers, chest to chest, and he hugs her even tighter.

 

“Thank you, the Iron Bull,” she says and her voice is laughing, laughing, _with_ him and not at him.

“Always, Boss.”

 

Always.

 


End file.
